Breakfast the Thirty-Fifth

Toast with pear & apple spread.

Today I caught a bus. Not something I'm required to do very often in Edinburgh, what with everything being pretty close by and so on. The number 16 rolled up, disgorged a few people and I made to get on: at which point the driver held up his hand in imperious fashion and scowled at me. I almost expected him to bellow "you shall not pass" before ushering Frodo Baggins on to the bus. Instead, after some time, some dithering and not entirely un-hobbit-like people tumbled out and the driver gestured that I might proceed. Whatever happened to speaking?

Edinburgh bus drivers, in my experience, are rather a cranky lot. I have on several occasions sprinted for the bus, arrived just as the doors were closing and then had the bus driver glower at me and drive off, leaving me panting (and swearing) on the pavement. Once I was hit by a bus -- well, technically the bus hit my bicycle -- and the bus driver, having established that I was alive, yelled at me. I was so gobsmacked I just dragged my bike (it no longer wheeled) to the side of the road and hobbled back to work.